


The Misadventures of Tuesday Winchester

by youngmonstrumologist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also Sass, Bastard Winchester, Gen, Other Winchesters, They Have A Sister, Tuesday is a total BAMF, When Did that Happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 00:51:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2130858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngmonstrumologist/pseuds/youngmonstrumologist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam and Dean have a kid sister who is actually sass personified.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Misadventures of Tuesday Winchester

Tuesday took a deep breath and rode her bike up to the passenger window of the black Chevy impala parked on the side of the road a block away from the vic’s house.  
She slowed to a halt, putting one teal Converse clad foot on the curb for balance and rapped on the glass with two knuckles. The tall one with the long hair looked up, slightly startled and reached for the button on the inside. Tuesday waited as the window slowly rolled down, revealing a vaguely bewildered looking man.

Tuesday stuck out her hand before he had the chance to say anything, and he took it, frowning slightly as he did so. “You must be the other two clowns on this case.” She took off her aviator sunglasses and carefully placed them on top of her head in her artfully mussed, short-cropped strawberry-blonde hair.

Sam’s eyebrows drew together, and Dean leaned forward from the driver’s seat to look up at her. Tuesday leaned back on her bike seat, only one hand on her handlebars. “You mean to tell me you’re investigating this case too? Where’s the rest of the Mystery Gang?” Dean asked sarcastically.

“Save it, Umbridge. I’m a freelance journalist, far less conspicuous than FBI. And wayyy less illegal.” Tuesday gave them her winningest smile. “But yes, I’m on the Ellisen case, too, to answer your skepticism.”

Sam looked Dean, eyebrows raised. Dean jerked his head slightly to the right. They both looked back at Tuesday.

“So are we going to collab on this one or will it be a race?” She asked, a challenging gleam in her eyes. Coolly and quickly, as if in response to her question, Dean drew his white-handled gun. Tuesday rolled her eyes. 

“Get in the car,” Dean said, voice gravelly and threatening.

“Fine, but if you think I’m leaving my bike here you’re insane.” Dean chanced a sideways glance a Sam, who shrugged. “There’s bungee cords in my bag,” Tuesday suggested.  
Sam pulled out his own gun, cocked it, and aimed it at Tuesday. Then Dean got out of the car and went around to the trunk. He returned with bungee cords and handcuffs. “Off,” he demanded of Tuesday, who swung her leg over and laid her bike on the ground. She crossed her arms and looked at him, bored. “Bag.”

Tuesday shrugged off her rather large backpack, and threw it at Dean’s feet. “If my Doritos are all broken you’re buying me more,” she stated, proffering her wrists.  
Dean made quick work of locking her up, and opened the door to the back seat, where Tuesday obligingly relocated herself. Then Dean looked at the roof of his car with a pained expression on his face. “Hey, you’re the one who won’t just let me ride it to the Motel 6.”

“You know where we’re staying?” Sam asked, gun never wavering.

“Of course I know where you’re staying. What kind of hunter do you think I am?”

Dean just looked at her like the matter was decided and picked up her dusty, navy blue Specialized bike. He pushed it onto the roof as gingerly as he could, then looped bungee cords around each wheel and hooked them together under the roof.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said, patting the roof of the car twice and looking at the bike with distaste, before walking all the way around to the driver’s seat again.  
Sam stayed turned around in the passenger seat, aiming the gun at Tuesday and clearly going to keep it there the whole ride. Tuesday was nonplussed. She examined the cuffs as Dean started the engine. “Demon-proof. Nice.” Sam did not say anything. “Oh come off it, Sam. This is how you treat your sister? Well. Step-sister. But still. Not exactly how I had envisioned it. Well. Not exactly how I had hoped.” She smiled at him.

“You’re lying,” Sam said.

“And the moral of the story is: Use a condom, kids,” Tuesday replied.

Sam looked at Dean, who looked at Sam, and redirected his attention towards the road again, with a stubborn determination not to acknowledge Tuesday’s words. Sam followed suit, not responding in any way except his expression hardening around the edges when he met Tuesday’s eyes. She sounded exactly like a minion of Crowley’s sent for the sole purpose of antagonizing them.

“Please. I know about Adam, too. How kind of you to just LEAVE him in hell. And besides, if you guys could get out, then how come you never went back for Dad?” Tuesday was legitimately annoyed at them for both these points. John and Adam were family – wasn’t that one of Sam and Dean’s favorite things to trumpet from the rooftops? At what point did the world become all about Sam and Dean? Tuesday was not sure whether they did these things intentionally or they just sincerely never thought about them. Either way, Tuesday was not about to let them do the same to her.

Clearly Sam and Dean were not on the same page with her, and hardly deigned her worthy of a response, as neither even attempted to give one.

“You know, I would have except I’m not nearly so experienced as you two, me being seventeen and all. Never been to hell, but from what I hear it’s pretty nasty.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Dean snapped, hitting the wheel with a clenched fist and glancing at her in the rear view mirror as he drove.

“Not really, no,” Tuesday said just to be difficult, but then fell silent. After that, their first family car ride went rather smoothly, considering two out of three people were angry and paranoid, and there was a weapon aimed at the last.

Gravel crunched as they pulled into the parking lot. Dean got out and slammed his door, before angrily yanking open Tuesday’s door. He drew his gun none too covertly, and Tuesday could hear Sam scrambling out of the car. “Geez, someone’s grumpy,” Tuesday said mildly, looking up into Dean’s eyes.

“Don’t provoke me,” he growled. “I’m the one with the gun here.”

Tuesday cocked her head. “And yet it appears I’m the one in control of the situation.” She smiled.

Dean’s finger hovered above the trigger, as he seriously considered shooting her in the leg as a warning, possibly just to prove that he would, but decided against it at the last second. 

Tuesday looked up at him with blue-green eyes, not betraying an ounce of the fear of being shot by Dean Winchester that actually threatened to smother her brain.

Dean just continued to glare and waved his gun to motion she should get out. Tuesday edged sideways until she could turn and put her feet on the ground, and then stood.

Sam started in the direction of their hotel room, hand digging in his pocket for the room key. Tuesday felt the gun’s muzzle nudge her in the lower back. She pushed her chin up and shoulders back before complying nicely, and following Sam across the parking lot at a steady pace.

The moment they entered the room, Dean knocked her into a chair, which Sam took the liberty of tying her to. After they felt she was adequately secured, Sam stepped back and Dean lowered his gun. 

“Who are you?” Sam asked, sounding genuinely curious and somewhat appalled. 

“Tuesday.”

“What?” Sam asked, befuddlement on his face.

“My name is Tuesday,” Tuesday repeated. “We share a surname,” she added.

She let the sentence hang in the air and instinctively shut her eyes tight as Dean suddenly thrust a flask at her and splashed holy water in her face. The cold liquid slid down her forehead and dripped of her chin. She blinked her eyes open.

“Nice to meet you, too, Dean.”

“How did you find us?” Sam continued after a moment.

“I didn’t. At least not intentionally. But I figured it was just a matter of time before we bumped into each other.”

Sam paused again, watching as Dean slid a silver knife across Tuesday’s forearm. She didn’t even flinch.

“And what made you think that we would bump into each other?” Sam reinstated the interrogation.

“Well, there’s only so many instances of paranormalcy in the nation at any given time. Happens a lot more than you might think. Bumping into other hunters, that is.”

More curiously than demandingly Sam looked at Dean and then back to Tuesday. “Then how come we rarely run into other hunters?” he asked.

“People avoid you guys, Sam. Whether they don’t want to cross you or they’re just afraid of your level of game, they get out of your way. You’re the big time. People don’t want to mess with that. I just decided a long time ago I wouldn’t skip town if I ever ran into you. And here we are. Make many friends this way, do you?”

“Hard to make friends at a job like this, kid,” Dean said gruffly, without looking up from whatever monster-test he happened to be performing on her at the time, which seemed to involve a twisty, thin, wooden stick. 

Tuesday barely fidgeted as Dean continued through the customary tests, until finally Dean stood up. He glared at her.

“Satisfied?” she asked.

“You’re clean,” he said, still wary.

“Great, then I assume we won’t be needing these.” Tuesday stood and the ropes fell to the ground, untied or cut, depending. She took a step forward and handed Dean the handcuffs. He looked up at her, allowing surprise to invade his features for the first time. Tuesday could see Sam’s shocked expression out of the corner of her eye as well. She grinned at them, letting the moment sink in.

“Can I get a band-aid or something?” she added after a second, holding her arm out, leaking red from multiple cuts. “Superheroes are my favorite if you have them.”


End file.
